


The Long and Winding Road

by stcrmpilot



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, it's tired boy time!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 12:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16516304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stcrmpilot/pseuds/stcrmpilot
Summary: She tried to tell herself that of course he hadn’t lost his characteristic enthusiasm—he was simply worn out, and upset, and likely in desperate need of a proper rest, because he didn’t often sleep right these days. But, right at that moment, it was terribly hard to see anything but apathy in his gaze.





	The Long and Winding Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [renegadeartist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renegadeartist/gifts).



> This was done for the prompt "I know it hurts, I'm sorry" from renegadeartist. Also disclaimer I've never listened to a beatle in my life I just liked the title.

It had taken Donna nearly a half hour of searching to find the Doctor—he could be very hard to find when he set his mind to it. She'd already checked the console room, the library, even his bedroom, which he still seemed never to use, and she was beginning to worry by the time she'd finally stumbled upon his garage. 

It was quiet and dark inside; she only bothered looking because the door was ajar, and doors didn't normally stay ajar on the TARDIS. The room was large, spacious and chock-full of various parts, machines and vehicles, for which the Doctor surely would never find a use. There was a wide desk in the back corner with a little lamp, dimmed as far as it could go, providing the only light in the room. Next to the desk was a couch and a side table piled high with trinkets, and Donna smiled upon spotting it. Just like him, to make all his own playthings. 

It took her a moment to notice that the couch was a bit lumpier than it should have been. She stepped inside, squinting into the low light, and realized that the lump was the Doctor, curled up under a blanket with only his head uncovered. Relief washed over her, having found him at last, but it was quickly tempered by the knowledge that there was something wrong. While it was typical for him to hide out in his various labs and workshops, it was very unusual to find him at rest. 

Donna walked tentatively over to the couch, hoping she wouldn't bother him. His eyes were closed, as if he were asleep, but they opened as soon as he detected her presence, and she knew he had been wide awake the whole time. He shifted as she approached, unsure whether to sit up or not. In the end, he simply tugged the blanket tighter around himself. Though he directed his gaze stubbornly away from her, he was unsuccessful in hiding the fact that he'd been crying, his eyes glistening in the lamplight. 

Donna sat beside him on the couch, her features drawn in sympathy. She wrung her hands together; it was only now setting in that he must be terribly upset, if he wasn't bothering to pretend otherwise. She didn't know how she was going to make him feel better. 

"I, er… I made some dinner," she said softly. 

The Doctor was silent for a moment, then sniffed. "'M not hungry," he mumbled. 

Donna nodded. She knew for a fact he hadn't eaten in the last day or so, but she didn't challenge him. "Are you alright?" she said—an invitation for him to share, more than a straight inquiry. She already knew the answer. 

"Fine," he said. His voice was rough with emotion and disuse, and she felt a pang of regret that she hadn't gone to find him earlier. 

"You sure?"

He didn't answer this time. Just curled up a bit tighter, and closed his eyes. 

Donna pursed her lips, concern tugging insistently somewhere within her chest. "How long've you been here?" she asked quietly. 

She watched the Doctor's lip tremble; he unfurled slightly to rub a hand over his mouth, then roughly wiped tears from his cheeks. 

"I was working," he managed, wavering, unable to keep his voice from breaking. 

"Why did you stop?" she prompted gently. 

The lump under the blanket shuddered as he took a deep, halting breath. "I'm so tired," he whispered. "Donna, I– I'm–" 

"It's okay," she murmured. "It's alright."

"No," he rasped, "no, it…” He stopped, his own words registering a bit late. The pained look faded from his eyes, the tension draining from his features, and the most awful resigned exhaustion took its place. It was horrible to watch. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

“Don’t be,” said Donna. “Please, don’t be.” She reached over and placed a hand on his knee, idly rubbing her thumb over the soft fabric of the blanket. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked. "Anything at all."

He shook his head. “I’m fine."

"Doctor," she sighed. 

He hesitated for a moment, then pushed himself up into a sitting position, slow and stiff, as if he hadn't moved for hours. He glanced down at her, then redirected his gaze to the floor. "I don't know," he mumbled, and it took her a second to realize he was amending his answer. 

Though she was glad he was making an attempt at honesty, it did little to ease her worry. He looked worse, somehow, sitting up; there were pronounced dark circles under his eyes, and he appeared more gaunt than slim in the low light. He sat with a slump in his shoulders, and when he reached up to half-heartedly sweep a hand through his hair, she saw that even it seemed limp and haggard. She tried to tell herself that  _ of course _ he hadn’t lost his characteristic enthusiasm—he was simply worn out, and upset, and likely in desperate need of a proper rest, because he didn’t often sleep right these days. But, right at that moment, it was terribly hard to see anything but apathy in his gaze. It didn't suit him. 

Donna sifted through her memory, trying to remember the other times she’d found him like this; what he liked to do, what made him feel better, even the rare instances where he’d talked about why this happened. She knew there wasn’t always a reason—an immediate one, at least—and that when there was he preferred to distract himself rather than face it. He had an unfortunate tendency to forget to take care of himself entirely; she was beginning to suspect that he sometimes neglected it on purpose, when he did remember. She figured that would be a good place to start. 

“I think you should eat something, Spaceman,” she suggested gently, reaching out to take his hand in hers. 

The Doctor shot her a glance. “Probably,” he muttered. 

“Is there anything you want?”

“I don't care.”

An unexpected pang of pity made her chest ache; she realized she’d never seen him defer to her opinion on food. “We’ve got banana bread,” she offered, guessing it would appeal to him more than the pasta she’d made for dinner. 

A tiny smile played across his lips. “Okay,” he murmured. 

Donna smiled back, relieved. “Want me to bring you anything else?”

“Bring?” The Doctor drew himself up with a deep breath, shaking his head. “No, no, I’ll come.”

“Really?” She studied him carefully. “You don’t have to, I don’t mind. You can just rest.”

“Nah,” he dismissed. “Done enough lying around today.”

This, she knew, probably wasn’t true, and he was likely much more tired than he let on. If she allowed him to run off on an adventure or force himself to work, he would end up worse off. She could see it, hidden just behind his expression: he dreaded getting up and going about his day. 

“Well,” she said carefully, “I was hoping to grab a snack and head to the lounge, watch a bit of telly. Do you want to come along?”

The Doctor, clever idiot that he was, understood exactly what she was doing. His features brightened in relief, just a bit, and he nodded.

"Okay." Donna squeezed his hand in encouragement. "I'm always here for you, you know," she said. "Always. If you ever want to talk about it, you can."

He was silent for a long moment, redirecting his gaze to stare at the floor. She watched, saddened, as he attempted to shutter his expression, gathering together the frayed edges of his being and tucking them away. She ached to tell him that he didn't have to do that, he didn't have to pretend, she only wanted to help—but she knew he could only take so much vulnerability in a day, even after all their time together. The poor thing. 

"I, erm–" The Doctor cleared his throat, ducking his head, and she caught a glimpse of fresh tears in his eyes. "It's nothing new," he said quietly. "Just… having a bad day."

"Are you sure?" Donna brushed her thumb over the sharp ridge of his knuckles, shifted just a little bit closer. He shivered, and couldn't resist leaning into her. "I'll still listen. I wouldn't judge you, you know that."

There was a pause. 

He shook his head. "You should."

He sounded so tired, so forlorn ( _ broken, _ she tried not to think) that she looked to him in surprise. 

"No," she murmured. "No, Doctor, no."

"You should hate me," he whispered. "You– you should leave me."

"Not a chance."

"I h–" His voice cracked, and he crumpled forwards, burying his head in his hands. He tugged hard at his hair. "I hate myself," he rasped. "Donna, I–" He broke off in a sob, his body shaking under the blanket. 

"Oh–" Donna hesitated, thrown by the rare display of emotion, then reached out and gently guided his hands away from his head, pulling him in closer. He collapsed into her arms, turning to bury his face against her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her and grasping at the fabric of her shirt. She hugged him tight to her in turn, tugging the blanket snug around him and moving a hand to rub his back soothingly. 

"Oh, Spaceman," she whispered. She laid her cheek against his head, rocked him back and forth ever so slightly, just the way he did for her. "My Spaceman. I'm sorry."

"Donna!" he gasped, his voice muffled against her shirt. 

“I’m here,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m… I f– feel…” He couldn't bring himself to finish that thought, and trailed off in a series of sobs that wracked his lithe form. "Donna, I c– can't do this, I can't."

"You can," she said. She tried not to betray the ice-cold dread that trickled down into the pit of her stomach. "You can, I swear. You know you can, you have."

He shook his head. "No," he said hoarsely, "no, I– I don't want to."

Holding him impossibly closer, Donna willed him to understand. "I know it hurts," she murmured. "I know it hurts, and I'm sorry, Spaceman, I'm so sorry. But it's gonna pass. You'll feel better, you always do. It always eases up, right?"

The Doctor nodded, drew a shuddering breath. He let it out as a noiseless sob. 

"I know you feel so alone right now," she continued, soft and quiet. "It hurts so bloody much, you don't think you can bear it. That horrible feeling in your chest… you can't imagine anything else, can you? Can't quite remember."

He clutched at her tighter, as if scrabbling for purchase on something, anything he could possibly use to drag himself out of the spiral in which he'd found himself. 

"It lies, Spaceman," she whispered, feeling her own eyes sting. "There's so much more than this, I promise, just–" she sniffed– "please, just give it some time. Please, I… I care about you so much, and I need you, you prawn, and it  _ will  _ get better. It will."

The Doctor stilled over time, processing this, his silence broken only by the occasional gasp or sniffle. "I–" He broke off, shuddering, and took several deep breaths to calm himself. "I'm s– so tired of this," he whimpered. "I don't want to do th– this. Just… want it to stop."

"I know." Donna closed her eyes. "It won't always be like this. It'll get easier."

He gave a long and shaky exhale, slowly reigning in his racing thoughts. "Yeah," he mumbled. "But…" He trailed off. 

"It's still hard," she finished. 

He nodded. 

"Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, it is. But you're not in this alone, no matter what you think. You've always got me. Anything I can do, to make it easier, to– to help you out, I'll do it." She smiled, though he couldn't see. "I'm your friend, dumbo. I want you to be alright."

He sighed deeply, calming just a bit more. “‘Kay,” he mumbled. "Thanks."

“Don’t mention it,” she murmured. She lifted a hand to brush her fingers through his hair, trying to smooth out the tufts that stuck up from his prolonged rest. It only caused him to relax further into her embrace, finally letting himself take comfort in her touch. He didn't lift his head from her shoulder, didn't loosen his hold on her, and nor did she let him go. She wanted nothing more than to stay like this until he felt all better, whisper little reassurances and tell him just how loved he was until he believed her, but she knew it wasn't that simple. There were some things he had to do for himself. 

It pained her. But it certainly wouldn't stop her from trying to help. 

They sat there for a long time, the Doctor huddled against her, Donna stroking his hair. Eventually he shifted, sat up to wipe tears from his cheeks, his head ducked away from her in embarrassment. She kept one hand on his upper arm, reluctant to let him go. 

"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly. 

He sniffled, then offered her a weak smile. "Better," he said. 

"Yeah?"

He nodded. 

"I'm glad," she said sincerely. She reached out to cup his cheek, leaned forward and touched her forehead to his in a familiar gesture of affection. He closed his eyes, his smile growing wider and softer, and when she released him she thought that perhaps he looked just a bit less tired. A little more peaceful. 

"Let's go get you something to eat," she murmured. 

The Doctor took a deep breath, in and out. "Okay."

Donna patted his arm, then stood and helped him up. He stumbled slightly and winced, shaking out his legs; she pursed her lips sadly, knowing he must not have moved from that couch in a long time. She reached up and straightened the blanket around his shoulders, knowing he liked the weight of it; she watched the corners of his lips twitch into a smile as he realized she’d remembered.  _ Ridiculous, _ she thought. Why wouldn’t she?

Taking his hand and linking their fingers together, she leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered. Her thumb rubbed the back of his hand. “You know that? And I meant everything I said, I…” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I love you, Spaceman. Don't you  _ dare _ tell yourself otherwise.”

He hesitated for a long moment before turning to face her, gathering her in his arms. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, mumbled a quiet “Love you, Donna” into her hair. 

When he let her go, she grabbed his hand once more, and together they headed for the door. 

“Have we got any ice cream?” the Doctor asked suddenly, looking down at her. 

Donna smiled. “Yeah. Movie night?”

“Sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out at [stcrmpilot.tumblr.com](https://stcrmpilot.tumblr.com)


End file.
